Findings:

Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "and then she was rock. my ship dashed against her."

She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
I said I was sorry. Then she looked at me.
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
She always was devious in her beauty
She was never mine. I always shared her.
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
She keeps her lies everywhere
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
I don't like her because she won't like me
He dreamt he was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty bed
And then, she expressed frustration with life in general
Fast-talking career gal who thought she was one of the boys
Rock Against Racism
other Rocks Against, back in the day...
Outside the train station she was the only person wearing an Orange raincoat and a look of surprise
She was a Surrealist Woman, She was like a Figure in a Dream
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
She thought about giving him her heart
She Will Have Her Way
I walked for a thousand miles to hear her laugh, then serenaded her in a field of fireflies.
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
she had already found her party
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
She dreamt she was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty field
She kissed me gently, just once, then walked away crying
She always was all tea and oranges that came all the way from China
She was pain and pleasure all at once, wrapped up in needles and Ramones T-shirts
When she was bad
"He was a terrible man," she sobbed, between bites of alimony
I Hear it was Charged Against Me
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
I think I fell in love with her right then and right there
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
I set my sister up with her husband, and all I got was this great dress and a trip to Hawaii
I got the feeling the Fairy Council was mad at me when the president knocked over her coffee to get a better grip on my neck
She knows no truth except her own.
That week with her was like drinking bubbles
Someone outlined against the sky, the sun too bright to see her face
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
She was steady
piano outside in the snow. and she was spinning
She was thinking of a boy in California who had a couch and a job
She was locked in time
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
I was throwing around useless proverbs when all she needed was to be held and told that she was beautiful
She was the seed of a strange tomorrow
She was so pleased to learn that she was right
And when she came back she was nobody's wife
She is and was
I was tired. It was late. She was Russian.
The Abridged Edition: She was to one side, he was to the other, an untested bridge between them
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
All that was left of her was a damp handkerchief
I was sure it was her
serene. She sips her tea
An ocean away and here he was, seeping into her
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
Where was her angel all those times the sky clouded over
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
Her name was Natalie
the way she wears her weary
i kissed her one last time, then walked out of her life forever
you laugh and then you cry but you're still laughing but you miss her so damn much
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
I am the child with her nose pressed up against the window.
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
she lit her thumb on fire
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
Don't misunderstand this one, it was like palm against palm through a window
The rock under my foot that told me I was real when I was an adult
she turns and smiles, then walks away
When that cow would walk it was like she was dancing
In the Beginning was Rock n Roll
She is a night of dark trees, but he who is not afraid of her darkness will find banks full of roses under her cypresses
To a girl who thought she was moving away
For a lawyer she was surprisingly like a child. Sometimes.
She moved so easily all I could think of was sunlight
What the hell was she thinking?
When she was new, she rolled around the sky like a black umbrella blown by the wind
She was buttery. She was asking for it. She was delicious. Let's all give in.
She was very beautiful. Y'know?
So then she said
I'm sorry I was speeding, officer, but I really have to get to the hospital
He stretched out his arms but she was not there
The flowers smiled, but she was gone
She probably thought your first language was English; your real first language was Joyce
She was cilantro, jalapeño, habanero. She was the hot plate you must not touch.
She was an intellectual prostitute, seducing me with profound truisms
Jessica, too tall but still lovely, was not sure she would or should drop the whale
someday, when she will think back upon the time when she was as yet undishonored
She was watching me and I didn’t know it.
Existentialism is that girlfriend who cheated on you. Postmodernism is who she was with.
she was just the dry smell of gasoline
It's too bad she won't live. But then again, who does?
She had become a mutton for punishment and he was a wolf
The House on the Island Where She Was Born
She bought a new smile every week when we first started seeing each other. Then I had to buy them.
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
I don't think I was rude to her, just cold and curt
Sleepless amid her ships, her houses, her incalculable wealth
She flies with her own wings
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
The sun was caught playing unashamedly in her auburn hair, setting our world on fire with giddiness
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
I don't remember what her name was so let's call her Doris
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
Seems I might have stolen the blue part of her rainbow, but all I really did was make it bigger, a way bigger blue
The portion of her face she allows me to see
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
does she need to touch her own face to know?
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
At night, her eyes closed, she would
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
All he left her was alone
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
His ex-wife was so frigid, her clitoris was only the tip of the iceberg.
Despite her station, the quarry was never alone
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
Her hair was seaweed and the Pacific wind sang
She practices her speech
She asked me to read her a poem
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
the reassuring solidity of the door frame against her spine
she gave her heart to a falling star
there was more poetry in her shopping lists than in any of my rhymes
making certain he was touching her
She always confused her greys with white.
That was what her hunger was like: mesmerizing, directed, floating like a public secret just under the cloud cover.
Shiprock, New Mexico
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
Her hips made waves against his shore
Meanwhile, the PILOT, who has been laughing hysterically through the entire sequence, finally loses it. He falls out of his chair and bangs his head against the panel, causing the ship to lose control and crash into a nearby planet

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